Rachel's Escape
by At Some Actor's West Side Loft
Summary: Set during The Dark Knight and probably after it, later on in the story. The Joker decides to save Rachel's life, and spares her a fiery, gasoline fueled death. Why? M for definite violence, possible smut, and of course the Joker's disturbing antics. Reviews are loved and given piping hot chocolate chip cookies, if that's any incentive for readers to write them!
1. Is This Considered Saving Someone?

Rachel's Escape, Chapter 1: "Is This Considered Saving Someone?"

Rough hands yanked Rachel Dawes out of possible death, threw her into the back of a car like she was garbage. Now death was her future, whether it was from the Joker or from her mind unraveling like a kitten's ball of yarn. Unless she escaped. Nope, of course, there weren't even handles on the doors, and she didn't have the strength to smash the reinforced windows. Harvey was gone, Harvey was dead, Bruce was batshit crazy and couldn't let go of being the Batman because it was all he had and it was killing him…Rachel's screams pierced the silence and echoed in the back of the car.

"Pipe down, red." One of the Joker's thugs reached back, trying to slap her across the face.

"Oh, bad move, shithead," Rachel thought with a vengeance, sinking her teeth deep into the man's hand and jerking her head back. She'd love to unleash more of this animal fury-claw into his skin, rip it open, make his blood spill out like red wine. Drain some of her sadness and anger and watch it stain something that wasn't hers. But she was still sore from being tied up for so long. Her body was numb and weak, so this would have to suffice. Like it mattered that her head smacked sickeningly against the wall as she pulled back. It was worth it if she could hurt someone, transmit her pain into someone who deserved it. Maybe he'd dislocate a finger, crack a bone…

Unfortunately for Rachel, the driver didn't panic. He quickly pulled over to the side of the road, stopped the car, pulled out his gun, and trained it on Rachel's temple. "Let him go, or I shoot," he snarled. She angrily relinquished the man's hand. Controlling someone, punishing someone, had felt so fantastic (albeit disgusting, she admitted to herself, as she spit several times to get the sweat and stench of the thug out of her mouth). The driver's phone rang, and he opened it.

"Guess who?" the voice on the other line cackled. "Now, Rachel, baby, I know you're thinking you can unlock the door and make a break for it. But…well, if you do that, you see, you're setting a bad example. You'd be misbehaving. And if you misbehave, someone or something else, say, a bullet from a gun, might misbehave too. And it might just run out of its chamber and take up residence in the back of your pretty little head. And I'd really prefer to keep that pretty little head-truly, Harvey and Bruce know how to pick 'em!-in one piece."

"How does this bastard keep track of EVERYTHING?!" Rachel screamed to herself.

"She still there, boys?"

"Yeah, boss."

The Joker laughed cheerfully. "Wonderful, I am so glad that's the case. Planned chaos is nice from time to time. It's thoughtless work. My Facebook or Twitter, if you will. Well, now listen to me. Blathering like a senile old lady when there are people to kill, buildings to blow up, and money to burn. Anyway, I'll be seeing you soon, sweetie," the lunatic crooned a twisted goodbye.


	2. House Rules

She woke up in a large, comfortable bed. "Huh…wha…this the hospital?" she murmured sleepily.

"No, sleepyhead!" the Joker answered in a singsong voice as he burst into her room.

Rachel's pulse made like a reindeer and flew up without warning. "What the fuck!? What the hell are you doing here? Where the fuck am I?" she yelled.

"Gosh, you have been out for awhile…a couple of days now. Well, long story short, I

saved your life. So now you're with MEEEE!" The Joker smiled widely.

"My life wouldn't have needed saving if you hadn't kidnapped me and trapped me in a room stuffed with explosives and barrels of gasoline in the first place, you sick fuck," Rachel growled.

"You people," the Joker groaned. "Always hung up on the details. So I made an eensy, tiny mistake that anyone could make. At least I fixed it, right?"

Suddenly, Rachel's face blanched to the color of vanilla ice cream. "Is Harvey ok?" she demanded, praying she wouldn't cry in front of the madman. "Is he alive?"

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact he is," the Joker replied. "But…" he looked at the ground, scraped a foot across the floorboard, and hung his head, shaking it slowly in mock pity. "Terrible thing. There was an accident at the hospital, some freak thing with the alarm system, so Harvey was evacuated, like everyone else."

"And? What else is there, you monster?" Rachel whispered.

"Are you sure you want to know?" the Joker countered. "I'm not sure HE could handle you finding out."

Rachel figured the Joker would want to tell her, anyway, so she kept quiet, struggling mightily to reassert some control over her thoughts and emotions.

"Well? Tick, tock, Miz Dawes," the Joker hopped on one foot, then the other.

"Just tell me." "Yeah, that's it, keep your voice neutral. Don't let him in any further, keep yourself in check." she thought.

"Alright. Let's just say the nickname "Two Faced Dent" fits him in more ways than one now. No more proud, suave, handsome Harvey Dent. The fire got lonely and decided it wanted him as a playmate." the Joker said, then reached a hand out to stroke Rachel's cheek. "I'm sorry, Rachel."

Rachel brought her hand up, hoping to land a vicious bitch slap across the Joker's cheek. No luck. He danced out of the way, giggling. "I'm sorry, really I am. Your spirit's admirable, if truth be told. However, you want to try some subtlety next time you go to attack someone, Rachel."

"Don't you ever touch me again," she snarled.

In response, he took a leap forward and poked her nose, then slithered away from her grasp to play with her hair, running his painted hands through it, enveloping himself in her scent.

"I never was one for following directions," he smirked.

As she was still lying down in bed, Rachel used the only weapons available to her-a pillow and a vase that was sitting on a bedside table. She swung the pillow at the Joker's midsection. He blocked it with his hands, and she took full advantage of the opening, drilling him in the face with the glass. Her momentary victory vanished when he reacted-or rather, didn't react. He picked a few glass shards off his face, looked down at the mess, and sighed. "You know, I really liked those flowers. And the vase was pretty nice, too. Now you've just made some work for yourself, and you'll have to buy me a new vase later."

"Why doesn't he tick?" Rachel thought furiously. "Does he even have emotions?"

"The girl's got moxie. And not just the bravado kind that Wayne and Harvey put on when they want to charm the pants off a girl, either. Harvey would have had his hands full with her-for a little while, at least," he mused.

"Now, Rachel, I have a little lesson for you. An invitation to my wonderful world, as it were." He spread his hands in a welcoming gesture. "Just imagine that I'm Willy Wonka, and you won the golden ticket."

"Yeah, well, I forgot to bring the ticket," she replied flatly. "Sorry. Guess I can't get in."

"Oh, no need to apologize. See, I have a special pass for you right here." A blade flashed white under the light and, before she knew it, had cracked a small slit in the middle of Rachel's palm.

She gasped, more from shock at the speed and precision of the movement than the pain…but she still felt outraged that the Joker felt like he could do anything he wanted with her.

"Well, he can do anything he wants with you, at least for now," a tiny part of her whispered.

"Shut up, Bruce or Harvey will realize you're still alive."

"And they'll be able to find you when you have no idea where you are, will they?" Her dry sarcasm was bleeding out of her now. Wonderful.

"You…" she stuttered. "Why?" she managed. "Get me a bandage, you asshole!"

"No. This is part of the lesson. You need to listen better, sweetie," he said, pulling her ear against his mouth for emphasis. "Now, just lick it up. You'll be fine in a few minutes. It's not a deep cut." He shook his head in disbelief and frustration. "You play with knives your whole life and people still refuse to believe you know what you're doing. Then they turn them over to someone with no experience and they're supposed to be less dangerous?" He snorted derisively.

Rachel blocked him out of her head for a second, willing herself to make her mind go blank as she sucked the blood out of the wound. To her relief, red stopped seeping out of the cut in about a minute.

"Ok, time for part two," the clown announced. Without so much as a wince, he slid the knife into his own skin and made a cut that was Rachel's twin. "You know what to do, hot stuff."

"You want me to…" she recoiled at the thought. He rolled his eyes. "No, Rachel, give it butterfly kisses and sing it a song to make it better."

"Fuck, no!" she cried out. "I don't want diseases you might have, you disgusting, vile…"

He pressed the end of the blade to her mouth. "Pity teachers aren't allowed to use these things. What a nice, quick way to shut someone up!" he thought. "Now, Rachel. I think your mouth is red enough already. That really is a good shade of lipstick for you, by the way. Long lasting, too! You started wearing it a few days ago, right? When you and the Harv man went out to dinner, I believe. I rarely get lucky enough to find one that stays that vibrant for so long," he chuckled. "Be that as it may, though, if you don't do what I say…" he reveled in the fear in her deer like eyes. Oh, he had her now. "My hand might just twitch…" Her face was wet with sweat. "And add a splash of color to you. And that would be a tragic accident, now wouldn't it? So please, for once, don't talk. Listen. Obey." He extended his hand regally. Rachel slid her tongue out of her mouth, praying to only get the tip of it on him, praying that maybe she'd throw up on him. A final act of defiance before death would be sweet, she figured. The Joker got her a glass of water after he felt the warm balm of her saliva slide over his wound. Rachel swished the water around in her mouth until she'd lost the taste of blood, walked over to the bathroom, and spit into the sink.

"There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" he whispered, acting for all the world like he was a parent who'd just made his child swallow some awful cough syrup.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why did you do that?" she whispered back. The depths of his madness easily surpassed that of any crazed dictator, of any asylum patient, she'd ever heard of.

"Oh, the lesson. Right! It's quite simple. You know, for a DA's assistant, you really should connect the dots better," he said, touching each edge of her cut and then doing the same with his for emphasis. "I just wanted to show you we're alike, that's all."

"We are nothing alike," she hissed, nearly spitting with rage. "I don't kill people for fun, I don't tear families to shreds, I don't destroy lives…"

"Oh, you don't?" he replied. "So when you imprison an innocent man, when your police force brutally tortures prisoners to set examples, when you incarcerate someone who uses marijuana medicinally even though they pose no threat to anyone at all, that's acceptable? Because it's in the name of the law?" he continued. "You see, when you consider my point of view…society should be used to chaos. It's what you choose to live in."


	3. Everybody Talks

"You don't give them-us-a choice," she retorted. How did this man find all the wounded spots on her psyche with such ease?

The Joker clapped his hands to his mouth, and his eyebrows leapt to his temple in surprise. "Choice? You think you have choice in this day and age? In the rat race? Darling, the corporate ladder devours your choices. It dictates everything. And every once in a while, I like to loosen some of the rungs on it, maybe give it a good whack with a monkey wrench. And then I sit back and watch people tumble. You know your lovely intern, Diane?" Rachel nodded, cringing at what the Joker had to say. But she wasn't remotely perturbed by the fact that he knew her intern's name when she'd only been there for a few days. It was the Joker, after all.

"Would you care to know how many sexual favors she dished out to get that position?"

Rachel gave the Joker a blank stare, imaging herself gunning the man down, restoring peace and order in Gotham. But was it really order? Was society's hierarchy any better than the Joker's anarchy? "Of course it's better!" She chided herself for even allowing that thought to poison her mind. But the idea was like the .1% of germs that never gets killed by disinfectants. It refused to die.

"She's conflicted," the Joker thought, relishing the sight of Rachel's Crest white teeth biting down on her sultry, pouty lower lip. "That's it, my lovely D.A. You're a smart girl. Accept that everything you hate about society-man's dominant position, the ass kissing, the corruption-can die if I'm in control," he thought to himself. "Now, Rachel, you probably want to get back to sleep. Build your strength back up," he smiled, fluffed her pillows, and left a glass of water on the table. "Oh, and I have more fun for you tomorrow. A bit of a game. It will be quite…rewarding. You'll enjoy yourself, I guarantee it."

"Get out of here," she whispered, taking a sip of water and then climbing back into the bed. He was right, she was tired. Too tired to fight. Too confused to automatically assume he was the bad one all the time. Something had to make him this way, but that didn't excuse him from being…well, evil, in her eyes, at least. She yawned. "Fuck it, there's time to deal with this maniac tomorrow, unfortunately," she thought. The midnight blue blankets came over her like a wave, her bed was a surfboard, and she got swept into the current of sleep in no time at all.


	4. What Is This Feeling?

"Good morning, sunshine." Rachel groaned as the Joker's voice woke her up and sat up, already dreading the sick "fun" games she'd have to play later. Rather, she tried to sit up, then saw something shiny out of the corner of her eye. Handcuffs. Her hands and feet were shackled to the bed. She went ballistic. "So you're one of those sick freaks who gets off by raping women, is that it?" she screamed.

"No, I don't," he answered quietly. "I was going to give you a massage to try to help you heal, but this little voice in my head told me you might not be too receptive of that idea, and I really don't like getting violent in the morning."

"Damn straight I wouldn't be," she yelled. Why was he so calm? Why did she sound like the insane one here?

He sighed, looking down at Rachel as if she was an impudent child. "Just stay relaxed, it's really throwing her for a loop. This really is more fun than I imagined, playing mind games with Harvey's squeeze," he thought. He allowed himself a small smile, flashed it to Rachel, then kept talking, turning out his pockets as he did so. They were home to a bunch of lint and nothing else. "Look, I don't even have knives, guns, or any other fun toys with me. Not that I need those to hurt someone. But I generally avoid using my hands and feet to hurt people, the marks can be a bit too easy to trace. Plus, I wouldn't want to bruise your pretty face."

"If he wants to play games, he'd better get ready," Rachel thought. She rolled her eyes, gave a large sigh, and said, "Alright, give me a massage if you feel like it, clown. At least take these off, though." She wiggled her foot, making the cuffs clink against the bed frame. "If you're going to pamper me, I insist you do a proper job."

"Am I trying to mess with his head or flirt with him?" she thought incredulously.

"Hey, does it matter right now? Save the psychoanalysis for when you're well away from this freak." The Joker undid the cuffs on her feet, then her hands. Rachel lashed out, punching him square on the forehead. She snapped her body up off the mattress with the agility of a gymnast, lowered her shoulder, and sprinted for the door. It couldn't be that sturdy, right? She was pretty strong, right? "FUCK!" she swore as she bounced off and crashed to the floor in a heap. The Joker stood over her again. Always in control, always on top. "You know, sweetie, for a district attorney's assistant, I'd expect a bit more thought from you. Now Harvey or Bruce, they would go for the brute strength tactic. But you have your mind, Rachel." He tapped her on the forehead. "Use it." He helped her to her feet and walked her back to the bed. "So, you still don't want that massage?"

"I think I'll take it, actually," she answered gratefully. Wait, she was grateful for something the Joker was doing? She shook her head, trying to correct her thinking. "Well, hunger, pain, and general trauma aren't the best companions to have in your brain. It's not your fault," part of her counseled. "But if you do anything that I don't like…" she faltered.

"Ah, nothing's better than a toothless threat," the Joker thought, trying to keep from laughing at Rachel's pathetic bravado. "Why, Miss Dawes, I am quite offended that you think I'd mistreat you like that. I can be the perfect gentleman-when I'm in the presence of suitable company, of course," giving her a small nod.

"Less talking, more massaging," she said. "Anything to get you to shut up."

"There's that spunk again…wonder if she'll be able to keep it stoked," the Joker thought. "Is it time for another surprise for Rachel? She is already freaked out…yep, let's keep going." His grin flashed bright, a knife in a dark, cramped alley. "Just give me a minute to wash my hands off, red. Wouldn't want to spoil your skin, now would I?" He walked into the bathroom, turned both taps of the sink on, and dunked his face into the porcelain. "Ahhh…Forgot how nice it feels to have that shit off my face," he muttered. He made a mental note to forgo the makeup more often. Being an undetected monster in society could be a jolly good time. He skipped back out as though nothing had changed. Rachel gasped and scrambled backwards in the bed. She'd never imagined the Joker could be human. She had assumed the paint had become part of him, had replaced his skin. Thought that if he got cut, he'd bleed primer. Nope, here was the Joker…probably in his mid to late 20s. Forest green eyes, almost a brown. Pale-no surprise there, his skin was covered with makeup all the time. Almost handsome, once you got past the scars and the whole "He's a psychotic murderer" thing. And she'd thought about letting him touch her…

"Yes, Rachel," he whispered. "I was going to give you a massage, was I not? Your shoulder could use it." He began rubbing her right shoulder. It was already bruising. She was hypnotized. "The Joker cannot seem to be a normal human being," she thought, frightened by her imagination. What if there were more like him, what if everyone was in on it? "Get the fuck away from me," she growled. "Jeez, why even bother talking? I can move!" But her body was a statue, cemented to the bed. His hands were soft but firm, with long, slender fingers a pianist would eat worms for.

"No, Rachel, you don't want to move. You need this," he breathed into her ear, as one of his hands climbed up the side of her neck.

"Who are you?"

"You know me already. I'm the Joker."

"But you're…you're a…"

"Yes, I'm a normal looking person beneath the makeup, dear. Well, mostly normal," he frowned slightly, showing off his scars as if they were the lead of a Broadway show. "Thanks for telling me, I never would have noticed on my own," he teased. "Now, back to the massage, if you don't mind. I'm trying to do you a favor here, and I don't like doing favors that often."

"But…why? Why are you the Joker?" she yelled. Her world had been thrown in a blender, and no one had secured the lid.

He gave a short chuckle. "My life taught me it's the only way to survive. It's amazing what people are capable of doing when they're just given a little, tiny, almost unnoticed…push." With his left hand, he gently shoved Rachel back onto her pillow. His right hand kept massaging her shoulder and was now sliding her bra strap aside. "Either she doesn't notice or she doesn't care. And she's still listening. What a good girl!" he smiled. "Take Harvey. So caught up in doing what's right, what's fair, for the good of society, that he's harmed innocent people. Just to catch little old me, and…" He raised his arms to the sky in mock confusion. "I haven't done anything bad since I kidnapped you! But he wants you, of course. He knows you're alive by now, and what self respecting politician can succeed without having eye candy on hand at all times?"

"Shut up, you bastard." She wanted to kill him from the inside out, tear his heart from his ribcage, grind his bones to powder, but her body still refused to budge. "I love him." She knew rising to his bait was idiotic, childish, but she had to defend Harvey. Despite the fact that they'd been going through rough patches, she still loved him.

"But does he love you?" he purred. "Or does he want you for his image, so he can go up, up, up the corporate ladder? See what a pesky thing it is now, Rachel? After all…" He brushed her cheek with his lips. "He hasn't touched you lately. You argue a lot."

She was afraid. Disgusted. Still immobile. Still trying to defend Harvey (even if he didn't deserve it at the moment). "We've both been overworked. It's normal. We'll be fine. Unlike you, when you get arrested, and your ass gets raped in prison," she spat.

"Oh, see, there's the problem," he nodded sagely. "You have that fire in you, Rachel. And Harvey wants to rein it in. You will be Mrs. Harvey Dent. You will smile and look nice for the cameras. And you won't be expected to work too much, not with Harvey becoming mayor soon and all. And of course, you wouldn't want to upstage your husband if you performed better at your job than he did at his." The Joker slid Rachel's shirt off her shoulder, exposing more of her gorgeous body. "And all that just eats away at you like nothing else," he whispered. He cupped Rachel's hands in his own, forming them into a claw. "Go ahead, prove me wrong," he placed her nails just above his eyelids. "Prove that I'm the awful menace, rake my eyes out. Finish me. Don't I deserve it?"

Sweat raced down Rachel's body. "Do it. Do it. He's awful. He's a killer. He doesn't deserve to live." Her hands itched. They wanted a fix. Wanted to scrape, scratch, maim. "Make the fucker go blind."

"And how does that make you any better than him."

And in one instant, in one terrible moment, Rachel realized she was a mess. She was weak and strong at the same time. Everything the Joker said contradicted all she'd ever known, but his words carried unwieldy truths as if they were overstuffed suitcases. There was so much hypocrisy in the world, and he played his games to destroy it. She could relate to the Joker. What the fuck was this? "If I make it out of here alive, I'm getting blackout drunk and higher than Albert Einstein's IQ," she groaned inwardly.

"Rachel? You want me to make you feel even better?"

"Fuck no, I'm not having sex with you."

"No, that's not what I mean. I'll just…keep going with the massage."

"No," she breathed, trying to avoid his eyes. She couldn't give in. Wouldn't. "It's not right."

"Why not? And don't tell me you're so delusional about your relationship that you think Harvey is fully committed to you. Every politician has a Monica Lewinsky at some point. Sorry."

"It's just…not. It's because it's you!" she cried out in disgust.

"Yes, it's me, the person massaging your shoulder and making that nasty bruise hurt less." He was either going to take her further or abandon her here. "Listen to yourself. Do you want to feel good? Feel better?"

This was the push. She'd lose her grip on the edge and go plunging into a gaping canyon. She'd find something to latch on to on the way down. "Yes," she whispered.


	5. A Little Less Conversation

Rachel's Escape Ch. 5

Their first kiss was mouth to mouth resuscitation. The Joker wanted to breathe Rachel's life into his lungs, and here she was, not exactly giving it away, but certainly letting it be taken. Rachel gasped. This was disgusting. Especially the way she'd opened her mouth so wide, inviting the Joker's tongue inside for a playdate. But this was a perfect release. She was strung out, looser than a prostitute's morals at the moment, and not a soul knew. "I am sick," her subconscious squealed with delight. She milked the temporary insanity for all its worth, willing it on, pleading for it to ravage her. His touches were a soothing balm, patching her nerves by committing them fully to the moment.

He finally pulled away. "Rachel?"

"Hmm?" She barely had breath left to let that question out.

"You want me to give you the tiniest hint of a makeover?"

She drew away from him a bit. With the Joker, a "makeover" could involve a knife to the face.

He sighed. "Look, do you trust me?"

She jerked back. "Fuck no."

"Smart girl," he grinned. He knew he had her when she laughed. He leaned in close and kissed his way down to her neck. "Alright, listen, Red. I just wanna put some special lipstick on you. It's one of a kind, and you will love it, I assure you," he whispered into her ear. "I want it to be yours."

She pushed him away for a second, trying to wipe the pleasure out of her mind so she could make a rational decision. Well, not rational, really. More like less insane.

"What do you mean?" her voice gained a hint of an edge.

"I think a really dark red lipstick could do wonders for you, that's all. With your complexion…you'd look stunning."

She blushed. Wait, did she actually respond to what this freak was saying? She actually liked it. No, she WANTED it, she wanted his approval. But hey, what's a girl to do when her husband's a prick and she's a psycho's test subject? Rachel was never one to be passive. And she wanted to see where this experiment was going. It was like watching a car crash-You felt awful, terrible, but you got over it.

"So go get the lipstick."

"You see, there's a bit of a problem. I don't have it with me. I am like the average man in that respect. So, I'll need to…" his fingers played a melody on her neck. "Borrow the color from you, as soon as you give me your consent." He nearly lost control and bit into the nape of her neck right then.

Her breath shivered out of her mouth. Insults cycled through her brain, and some worries about her sanity floated through her mind, but what came out of her mouth in the end was, "Th…thank you."

Trying to keep the concern out of his voice, he asked, "What for?"

"It's just…Harvey…" Rachel's voice cracked. "He doesn't always ask if I want to do things. I just kind of have to go along with it."

"So, looks like Harvey's not the perfect man that this city is so enamored with, doesn't it?" The Joker couldn't keep the teasing lilt out of his voice, although he did actually try. Hiding it would be about as easy as hiding his scars.

"Bite me," Rachel hissed. So he did.

"See how much nicer life can be when you're not society's puppet, Rachel?" he whispered.

"Yes," she breathed out as they kissed. Part of her didn't believe that, but she told it to hush for now. "Hey," she said.

"Why does she keep saying words?" The Joker gritted his teeth in frustration. Still, to be nice-"You're going soft, lover boy," part of his demented mind teased- he fixed his eyes on Rachel and nodded for her to speak.

She held his hands up and laid her palm on his. "I thought the scars meant we're alike?" she asked.

"Err…yeah?" he answered gruffly.

"So you need to be more like me," Rachel whispered hungrily. She leaned in close and sank her teeth into his neck. A wicked grin popped up as she admired her vampire imitation.

Rachel Dawes had latched on to something as she tumbled into insanity: Its other prisoner. The Joker.


End file.
